Tasting Limbo
by StressedLouie
Summary: The world has moved on from humanity - dead bodies with the semblance of life, but mute and will-less made by supernatural forces; zombies, now rule the earth. Gilbert is hopelessly searching for his little brother, until he discovers a gun aimed at his head. Could the brothers even encounter each other again in this rotting world? The chances are low. Full summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **

The world has moved on from humanity, leaving the very last to suffer in terror and eventually be killed. The body of a dead person which has the semblance of life, but mute and will-less made by supernatural forces; zombies. Real humanity is little. A young, lone survivor with ghostly hair struggles in a heavy downfall of rain, only slightly surviving. Former college student Gilbert fights for pathetic life, the new hunger chasing after him. It's been twelve months, and those with no survival skills quickly became infected by following the media's panicked orders. Alone, cold, hungry. Gilbert finds a sanctuary for the night, only to continue his search for food in the morning. At least, those were his plans until he found a gun being directed at his skull.

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**Chapter 1**

******Warnings: **_AU (Alternate Universe), Adult language, Dark._

The world was in ruin. In just months it was evident. Without human care, the buildings crumbled, the wildlife grew instantaneously, dust and dirt gathered at a rapid pace. Humans were gone, vanished, dead. Those dead replaced the living, and the new Dark Age took place. What few survivors remained were soon to be dead, not having the skills nor mindset for this era. It was funny, the only real evidence that humanity ever lived on this planet is their constructions; cars, newspapers, buildings, toys... All of which, in the end, would rot away. And then nothing will be evidence of our existence. No, that's a lie. The only piece of evidence would be 238,855 miles away. A lone flag on the moon. On another planet.

The year is 2015... Welcome to limbo, enjoy your stay.

It was raining, heavily. A lone young man slowly put his gun underneath his belt, letting his jacket flow over it naturally. His ruby eyes scanned the area rapidly, searching for any more signs of life. He just had to kill yet another disgusting, reeking creature. With what seemed like dozens of bodies surrounding him, looking up with withered eyes, he gasped; out of breath. He quickly made for a nearby building, the one that he just cleared half an hour ago. Boots clopped aggressively on the wet ground as he quickly approached. The old, battered door closed behind him, and he immediately stripped off his dark blue, bloodstained jacket and threw it on the floor before lowering himself down to sit against the wall of the hallway, finally being able to breathe properly.

For what seemed like eternity, he'd been alone in this decaying world, killing people he'd previously known, killing people he'd never met... As well as killing little, helpless children. But they weren't as innocent as you'd imagine, they were trying to tear into his flesh and consume his brains. In reality it had been ten months, but he couldn't have a way of knowing this because any method of tracking date and time vanished, just like the rest of the world. Now, he walked streets full of groaning and shuffling, when once there was laughter and loving kindness.

Sighing, he leant the back of his head on the wall, staring up at the ceiling. However, he was still oh-so alert. If he heard any sound whatsoever, he would pull out his gun within a millisecond and shoot. Without any remorse. He'd found that looking at their faces before he killed them forced him into guilt. And so, he trained himself to shoot the head precisely without looking by measuring the distance of their shoulders.

He hated this reality, he hated that he had no idea if humanity had some safe haven, and if they had simply abandoned him and left him to rot with the rest of the world. Having their own party without ever letting him know. He hated it, because what was the point in fighting to survive if there wasn't anything to survive for? He had previously gave himself up to the dead and let them feed on him, let them change him into one of them, and let him feel nothing and be at peace. At least, this outcome were his attentions, but at the last minute, he saw their rotting faces, and heard their moans of hunger, and shot them in their brains, trembling as their blood gushed upon him. It was instinct. Even though his heart wanted to rest, his brain refused to become brain-dead.

The disease had struck the world by surprise. Complete anarchy occurred, and everyone was in panic. The last tiny bit of news he'd heard of the situation was that a secret Russian experimental weapon had gone entirely wrong, and ordered us to retreat to main cities to be protected. The young man mentally laughed, he was smart to not follow the petty orders of the media; one infected within the city could spread like wildfire and make the whole city infected. This was why he tended to stay away from locations with a high population rate... The ones running to be protected only increased the bloodbath and became infected.

He was exhausted and hungry, oh so hungry. Thinking about it only made him hungrier, and he placed a hand on his stomach as it growled, as if mentally telling it he couldn't do anything and that he was sorry.

The young man wore a black tank top, which was a little oversized; reason being it was once his little brother's. Yes, he was younger. Yes, he was bigger. You got a problem, punk? His green combat pants stuck to his pale flesh due to the rain water. Compared to the holes and bloodstains in his clothing, the boots he wore were still fighting-fit, very comfortable. Although this was the only luxury he could ever afford.

His left ear twitched at the door handle being touched ever so slightly; ruby eyes darted towards the noise and his hands moved quickly to point his gun at the door. Behind the blurred window he saw a silhouette, and his eyes narrowed. Fuck, they managed to find him. Even in this downpour. Slowly, the door creaked open, revealing a deformed old woman, skin wrinkled and sickly. Her skin had ripped, showing bone, limp muscle and black blood. Her eyelids had rotten off, making eyeballs bulge out at him, full of hunger. Everything was rotting; lips, skin, teeth. Why even bother titling it as 'she'? Its hair had fell out, leaving only a few strands. The sight was truly sickening, thinking it was once a caring mother, successful businesswoman, _anything. _

Shit- he looked at the face. Widening his eyes, he watched her leap for him, saliva dripping down her neck. He hardly even gave himself another millisecond before putting a tiny bit of force on the trigger.

'_**BANG**_,' the sound echoed in the musky air as the creature toppled on top of him, cold blood spluttering on his pale face. Well, that's one way to get colour in your cheeks. Great, now he stunk of guts.

But then he realised, _he didn't pull the trigger._

In shock, the young man threw the body off of him before aiming the gun yet again. Rain flowed in the doorway of the building, blocking his vision, but as soon as it was cleared, the first thing he noticed was green eyes staring back at him. The stranger gasped and stepped back out of shock, aiming his own weapon at him, shaking. There they were, two humans threatening to kill the other because they were questioning each other's existence.

Red eyes blinked but his frown only strengthened; wouldn't want to show any signs of weakness. He was actually surprised the man didn't shoot him on sight with the state he was in; pale, almost sickly skin, blood covering the majority of his face, and piercing red eyes. He looked exactly like one of them.

Is this... Another _living_ human? _No,_ he told himself, reassuring his aim before getting to his feet slowly, never taking his eyes nor gun off the stranger for a second. Water dripped from his white, glowing hair as they both just stared at each other in silence. Before finally;

"Drop the gun!" the other demanded. He thought he heard a slight accent, but couldn't place it. In response, he only frowned. He hated being barked orders, especially by people he didn't even know – despite this being the first _living _human he'd had contact with in months. The stranger's hands were shaking slightly, possibly from shock. This wasn't good. Scared people with guns could only define one thing;

trigger-happy.

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**A/N: **Thank you so much for reading, the first chapter isn't too short, is it? Please review and tell me if you liked it, I may even upload the second chapter right away if there's enough (yes I have it completed already...)

Although I do wish to question you guys on what characters to base this story on... I was thinking either Prussia/Spain or Prussia/Germany. But I really can't decide... Let me know what you guys want? Also, if you see any spelling/grammar mistakes please be sure to tell me~ I try my best to spellcheck/proofread everything but I can't always get everything 100% correct.. Not everyone is perfect~ I've shown this chapter to a friend and he said it was good so... Yay? xD

Moreover, as for the story covers, I will mostly draw/edit them myself (such as this one).

I will try to upload 1-2 chapters a week, I hope you enjoyed! Hmm... I'll upload early if a chapter gets 10-20 reviews, so I know the majority of people are actually wanting the next chapter, thanks~


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Warnings: **_AU (Alternate Universe), Adult language._

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The continuous harsh downfall of rain was all that could be heard, and possibly a faint disturbance of thunder a few miles off. The two froze, pointing weapons at each other's skulls. The stranger was getting fidgety, and reassured his aim.

"I said drop the fucking gun, si?!" he roared, clearly scared shitless. Who wouldn't be in this age? Especially when the first living human you come across doesn't look... human. His red eyes burned through him, and his pale skin reminded him of a ghost, but his white hair was especially a mystery to the green-eyed stranger. The blood covering his pale face wasn't much assistance, either.

The ghost was quiet but intimidating as he spoke, "_you _drop the gun, you could be infected." He hoped narrowing his eyes would help give him the hint to drop it. He made a forceful motion with the gun, emphasising he wasn't playing games. Nothing. "I said drop it or I'll shoot your fucking brains out," he finally said a little louder. Damn, he hadn't spoke English in so long that his accent could be heard, rather than the language rolling smoothly off his tongue. However, his tone seemed to have worked as the other lowered the weapon ever so slightly. He then made the move to lean over and drop the gun to the floor, emerald eyes still on his, shaking like a lost puppy.

"I-I'm putting it down, yes? I'm friendly..." The stranger made a point to kick the gun away from him before furrowing his eyebrows... "I'm not infected. Now you"

But still, red-eyes didn't budge his weapon. He was in charge here, and he'd like to keep it that way. Who knows if this kid would pull a knife on him or not. "You could be infected," he repeated suspiciously, eyeing the man in front of him, cautious. Very cautious. Any sign of him being bitten, a bullet would go through his skull before he even knows what happened.

"I'm not bitten!" he insisted, desperate. "Do I _look _infected?" Now he started to panic, it was evident in his actions. He was hyperventilating and was displaying rapid eye movement. So, he could kill the dead but in the face of a weapon he was useless? Don't blame him. As if to stress his honesty, the wet coat he was wearing was stripped, and the sleeves of his shirt were pulled up, allowing the ghost to see his skin. There were no holes in his shirt that was big enough for a struggled bite, nor in his pants.

Although he didn't fully believe him, red-eyes dropped the weapon smoothly,and kicked it behind him. "It doesn't matter if you don't look infected," his stare was strong, invading, "the saliva from the bite takes effect after a period of time, travelling to the brain ever so slowly to destroy it... You could be infected and not know it." He wasn't completely sure if that was the process, but he had observed enough of them turn to get a basic idea of what goes on.

"How do I know know you're not infected, hah?" he challenged, "I know for a fact I'm not bit, but you could be crawling with the infection!Hell, you look like you are!"

The white-haired man felt something inside of him, something that he hadn't felt in a long time. He found himself smirking at the newcomer. "If you don't take my word for it, you want to try your luck on stripping me?" he rolled his red eyes sarcastically. That was it, his sarcasm. It had been so long since he'd displayed it to someone.

The stranger simply gawked at him, wondering how to react. This is when the ghost finally observed him. He was taller than himself, and had dripping wet murky brown hair, no doubt stained with blood. He noticed earlier his accent, not to mention skin colour; tanned, even in this country and age. A long coat, trench-coat, was draped on the floor, and he had a large rucksack near it to carry his supplies in, much similar to his own. He was definitely foreign, if you could even use that word any more... Spanish, maybe?

"No thanks," he finally said suspiciously, green eyes laying on red cautiously, "I'd rather not." His panicking seemed to finally be ceasing, and he took a step inside the building, out the rain. This made red-eyes twitch out of annoyance; he didn't say he could enter – he needed to be completely sure he could trust this man. "But please," he insisted, bringing his attention back to him, "Let me stay here tonight for rest and I'll be on my way in the morning!" He almost looked pathetic the way his eyes burnt with desperation.

This was when he noticed the cuts and bruises on his tanned face.

Turning away, the ghost leant down and rummaged in his bag on the floor, pulling out a small black box. Looking at it, he frowned irritatingly. "Use these to cover up your cuts," he stated, chucking the box to the stranger, "if infected saliva or blood get in wounds then you'll be dead in no time. Well, dead by today's standards."

He struggled catching it, but didn't drop it. Curious, he looked inside with his green eyes. "...Band-aids?" he questioned, and the ghost couldn't help but role his eyes in annoyance.

_No, fucking crocodiles,_he thought to himself as he turned around, grabbing his jacket and bag before making his way into the building's nearby main room. Inside there had previously been an office. A desk, a couch, and other typical office furniture. But the most noticeable object in the room was the dead zombie on the floor and the cold black blood surrounding it. It's eyes bulged through its head and flies began to surround their prey. The room stank of death, and the stranger behind him almost threw up right there from the smell as he followed behind the ghost.

Eyeing the weather outside the window, he frowned at the darkness; night. They were both dripping wet, and letting this man stay with him was out of the question. He couldn't afford to babysit someone, surely he could look after himself if he's survived for this long.

That was just it, you'd think at a time of social upheaval humanity would come together in consensus, to fight against the infection. But doing so made matters worse. It made him think that humanity had evolved into an individualistic culture, especially here in Germany. However, things may be different in collectivist cultures, like Japan. Were they completely fine? How come they weren't helping the rest of the world, why wasn't anyone? Surely there was a country that escaped the toxic explosion.

The stranger invited himself down onto the couch and he gently applied the band-aids to his cuts, wincing ever so slightly at the touch. "Ow, ow, ow..." he more or less mumbled to himself.

The pounding rain on the windows suppressed any possible sound that could be heard inside, and that was good. It was actually perfect weather to travel in; his scent would be wiped off him completely and any sound he made would be drenched out by the rain. However, it was night, dark. Which made travelling completely dangerous. No street lights were lit any more, no light apart from the moon, complete darkness. The dead could jump at them any given moment.

It was strange to be in the presence of another living human. It was insanely awkward. Pulling a chair up next to the window to keep watch, the ghostly man tried not to have eye-contact with the stranger. It wasn't like they could talk about anything that remained in this world; hobbies, friends, family, talents, college. Everything was irrelevant and gone. Instead, he just frowned outside the window and remained like that for at least an hour, the room deadly silent of conversation.

Until finally he felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to avert his attention. "Uh, hey," the stranger smiled awkwardly, offering a hand out, "The name's Antonio."

_Definitely Spanish, _he thought as he glanced out the window yet again, not bothering to return the man's hand. Who needed such formality now? Antonio frowned and retreated his hand back to his side. He was going to be gone tomorrow anyway. "I'm uh... Looking for my amigos," he stated sadly, gazing down on the floor. The man looked as if he was about to break down in tears. "We got separated in an intense zombie attack, we had to split up and..." he paused, clenching his palms into fists. "I haven't seen them since, I don't know if they made it..."

At this, the red-eyed man stared at him, eyebrows furrowed together. "I'm..." he finally spoke, voice catching in his throat. "Looking for someone, too."

"Oh, who is it?"

However, that was all he said for the next hour. The Spaniard must have caught on that he wasn't going to talk any more, and so he retreated back to the couch, keeping himself silently occupied somehow. Thinking depressive thoughts, eyeing the dead zombie in the middle of the room – paranoid in case it would get up and grab his ankle when he least expected it.

That was right, he was looking for his little brother. He hadn't seen or heard from him since the whole disaster started months ago. He didn't believe he was dead. Frowning, he tensed his fists. He was the most ignorant little fuck when it came to getting hurt, there was no way he would accept death so easily.

"Gilbert," he suddenly murmured into the silence of the room, hoping the rain would block out the sound. It didn't. The Spaniard jumped a little at the unexpected sound, and Gilbert could almost feel his gaze.

"...The person you're looking for?" Antonio asked, confused.

At this, Gilbert shot him a 'you fucking what?' look, "no, my name" he simply put, shuffling on the chair and feeling his ass turn numb. But at that second, his stomach decided it would be the perfect time to punish him for not feeding himself, and a loud groan could be heard from it. Almost surprised, Gilbert looked down and mentally smacked it with his eyes.

A pin dropping could be heard, and Antonio just blinked in surprise for a few seconds, not knowing what to say. As if this was the funniest thing in the world, he then threw his head back and started laughing like a hyena, tears and everything. Tears! He held his stomach as if it was about to collapse on him. "Ahaha.. Hahaha.. Oh, man," he gasped, trying to get air into his lungs.

Gilbert threw himself off the chair, making it fall onto the floor as he felt his face flush red. "Shut the fuck up!" he yelled, but not too loudly. "What the hell is so funny?!"

Antonio turned around, trying to muffle his laughter with his hand, but clearly wasn't working. He stumbled over to his bag and began rummaging in it. "Ahahaha... Wow, sorry," he wasn't sorry, he had a big fat grin plastered onto his jaw. "Something clicked and-" he made an inhumane gasp before continuing "and I just couldn't stop... I guess spending so long without laughter can make you laugh like a maniac when you do eventually do it." He pulled out a tin of fruits from his bag, and Gilbert couldn't help but gawk at it.

As if putting the whole scene behind him, Gilbert pointed at the food, "where the hell did you get that?!" Anything juicy and full of flavour were hard to come by nowadays, and Gilbert couldn't help the drool beginning to escape from his lips.

Antonio grinned at the other's communication, finally he was talking. "I've been saving it," he opened it hastily with a small knife, "you can have some."

Gilbert frowned and remained glued to the floor. This was suspicious. Why would he just simply hand away precious food? The Spaniard seemed to notice this, and his smile had vanished, but he still held the tin out for him. "What do you want?" he finally asked suspiciously. Maybe he was just being paranoid, maybe he just found it was harder to find sources of food.

As if caught, the newcomer smiled sheepishly and ruffled his brown hair absently. "Red handed, huh? I've been thinking," his emerald eyes drifted to the zombie, and clearly shuddered from the sight. Both of them still hadn't gotten used to the smell quite yet, and Gilbert himself had felt his was going to puke multiple times. "That, we'd have more luck travelling togeth-"

"Nein," he cut off, aggressively turning away and picking the chair back up from the floor. Who the fuck does this guy think he is, showing up out of nowhere and deciding a stranger should look after his ass? He knew he was awesome, but he couldn't have more dead weight to carry around, even if the world _was _going to shit. In reality, he should be more ecstatic to see another human being, living, but was it weird that he just couldn't give a fuck? Spending so long by himself must have dulled him, but he wasn't about to risk dying because of an idiot.

The Spaniard just looked at him with sorrow before sighing. "You at least want me to keep watch, then?" he mumbled.

"Nein," he repeated, "I will wake you after a few hours. Sleep," he demanded, glaring out the window yet again on his chair. Of course, the lights inside the building were off, as to not attract any attention. Despite this, he saw a few lone dead shuffling outside, still not spotting or smelling him.

The other just grunted and made his way to the couch, leaving the canned fruit on a nearby table next to the ghostly look-alike. But of course, Gilbert wasn't planning on waking him. There was no way his was entrusting his life to this stranger.

A few minutes pass, he wasn't sure how long but he felt his bottom numb again, until he heard soft snoring. Shooting up silently, Gilbert sneaked over to the sleeping Spaniard and gently began searching him, so he knew in advance if there was any additional weapons he carried on his person. His fingers brushed against his clothing smoothly, but in the end, he couldn't feel anything in pockets or tucked away. His eyes darted to the man's bag on the floor, and began unzipping it as silently as possible. The contents inside shocked him; an axe. A fucking axe. Who the hell carries an axe in this day and age? Closing it, Gilbert made his way to the front door and picked up their guns which they both dropped earlier. A gun, an axe, and a small knife. Way to move lightly, _Antonio._

He spotted a nearby wooden chair and bolted it up against the door handle, securing them a little more. It wasn't much, but it helped ease the paranoia.

Sighing, Gilbert returned to his window and let his thoughts entertain him. He had been looking for his little brother ever since this whole disaster occurred. He replayed the memories of when he last seen his brother over and over again.

_Gilbert was in bed, snoring audibly, as one would expect at three in the morning. That was until the telephone rang. Why did it sound so much louder than it originally was? Stirring in his sleep, the albino groaned. A soft yet gruff voice spoke over the phone, his little brother's to be exact. He felt himself drift back off into slumber; it was probably another call demanding him to get to work for an emergency._

"_GILBERT," was the word in which he jolted awake to, and that tired-dizziness struck him as his little brother shook him. "Gilbert, get up!"_

"_Huh- Ludwig, wha-" he said as he rubbed his sensitive red eyes, the morning light boring into him already._

"_Get the fuck up and go with father! NOW," his voice was panicked yet demanding._

_And with that, Ludwig was gone. He never knew that would be the last time he'd see his brother. He lazily dragged himself out of bed, not knowing what all the fuss was about as he grabbed a random shirt from the floor – his brother's – and pulled on some boots. Next, his father stormed inside his room, and Gilbert was about to irritatingly shout 'why the fuck is everyone yelling' until the next words were spoken, and red eyes widened, his heart missed a beat inside him. His father, who had seemed so strong, who had never cried in front of his two sons, had tears drowning his face._

"_Your mother is dead."_

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**A/N: **I decided to upload the second chapter on the same day... Because I just couldn't wait. Even if there were no reviews... Oh well~ I've decided I am leaning more towards a Gilbert/Ludwig fanfiction, but clearly that would take a while to get to considering how I approached this story C: But if anyone has any objections, I will be continuing the story in this manner.

I'm also much more satisfied with this chapter's length woop.

**Next chapter:** Ludwig's point of view of modern day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The withered world seemed to pass him by slowly as the flesh attached to him rotted away. It was almost scary how fast it could take for cells to rot when their human wasn't living. Brain cells, three to seven minutes. Skin cells, twenty-four hours. A body will become a moving mass of maggots within less than two days. These facts made it clear that nature is very efficient at eliminating human corpses, as if caring old Mother Earth couldn't wait to wipe us out after our betrayal to her. She had set a curse upon us. We killed innocent creatures - her children - just because we saw them in our presence. We destroyed trees - her arms - just for our own pathetic resources. It would be a matter of time until she would abandon us as one of her creations. We had destroyed the ultimate mother, but now she was giving payback; for those dead to rise up and suffer tenfold, for those surviving to fight for their pathetic little lives. There was something about this curse that lengthened out the decomposition process of human bodies, and allowed them to walk among the living, almost supernaturally. It would be argued that the destruction was our own wrongdoing.

Of course, these thoughts didn't occur to him as he shuffled, not sure of his destination nor aim. The environment seemed... Dazed. And nothing could awaken that feeling of nothingness but the consume of living cells, living human flesh. He caught his reflection in a nearby window, and he looked up. Blond hair turned dying-white, plump flesh now pale and bony, not to mention the sickening holes of decomposition present in it. Insects clawed and swarmed him aggressively, attempting to fulfil their disgusting instinctive job. Blood stained his purple lips, and his eyes weren't that sky-blue they were meant to be, but instead they were drained of any colour, leaving them to remain white, blind.

But then the image of him aggressively ripping a woman's body apart forced him to jolt awake in his sheets. He found himself short of breath in a room he had only recently got accustomed to. The large German brought his hand to his sweating head as if to ease the images in his mind, but then realised he was trembling.

"Hey, Luddy, are you okay?" a voice next to him whined, and he felt a worried hand press against his sweating arm.

"I told you not to call me that!" he snapped, and the other's hand quickly twitched away from him. He noted his tone of voice as he breathed deeply, attempting to regain his posture. "Sorry," he mumbled, shuffling from his bed. The room was light, but not too blinding. It must be morning. Ludwig finally looked at his companion's worried face, and he sighed.

It seemed like a generation ago since he'd gotten that life-changing phone call. As his former job, he served the military, and often got calls for his assistance. If anyone else other than his captain had ordered him to get his family to Berlin, he would have laughed at them and told them to take a hike and fuck themselves while they were at it. However, there was a desperation to the authoritative voice which ordered him to not mess with him and just obey his god damn commands.

Maybe it wasn't fair that he was one of the first to know of the situation. Maybe some would argue it wasn't fair his captain favoured Ludwig more than others, no matter how much he would deny it. Maybe it wasn't fair he'd gotten a head start in evacuating his family, but that was how the start of disaster hit his life.

The truth was, he had no clue whether his older brother or father had made it, and the lack of knowledge put him on the edge of paranoia and anxiety. He knew for a fact his mother didn't make it... But he didn't want to think of the manner in which she died, or the grungy missing part of her skull and brain when Ludwig was forced to identify the body. He had puked right on the spot the second he witnessed her, wet with tears and trembling with shock.

"Let's go get something to eat, si?" the American-Italian questioned cautiously. That was right, Feliciano was his responsibility, everybody was. He couldn't protect everyone, but he would sure as hell try.

Eat? What was there to eat? Stale bread and water?

After evacuations to the capital failed and turned into a bloody massacre, Ludwig had no choice but to fight for his life solo. And he was terrified, oh so terrified, but he couldn't die. He needed to verify whether his family was safe before he decided to drop dead. And so, he killed any walking dead in his path, often spewing from their deformed bodies and stench, intent on relieving his stress in this manner. This went on for tiring months, aimless. It was getting to the point where he was about to give up, just throw himself at the crowd of hunger that longed for him. He hadn't seen one living human, he was alone. But then as he was walking in darkness' arms called the night, Ludwig was blinded by strong spotlights being directed upon him. It was almost like a dream, he remembered not being able to recognise anything but white, no matter how hard he tried to cover his stinging eyes; and he originally thought he went blind. He panicked as arms grabbed him, and his first instinct was to frantically shove the zombies off.

He must have knocked several bodies over, but the adrenaline ferociously pumping his blood prevented his ears from hearing the shouts around him.

Until eventually, something hard and cold smacked him across his head, and he toppled over to the cold ground and faintly observed his own blood pooling on the floor, before finally blacking out. Another nightmare of being in the grips of death.

He slowly opened his heavy blue eyes to a surging pain in his head, and he couldn't help but groan. His vision was disorientated, and he was confused. This was where he first laid eyes upon Feliciano, rushing over to him and taking his temperature and blood pressure, not to mention the scanner that was pressed to his eyes the second he opened them; he remembered an audible 'beep' and for some reason, he felt relieved at the sound, because that stated he wasn't infected. Not yet. He never was sure how the small man had gotten to this place, and he had never planned to ask.

As the two walked to the main building to get their pathetic excuse of breakfast, Ludwig observed their sanctuary warily like he had a hundred times before. It was just a sealed off part of Celle, a small town in Germany which humanity managed to save as the infection spread. The walls were made hastily, it was evident, but they stood strong against the weak creatures that longed for their flesh. Maybe it was the only haven left on the planet, but even so, the population was scarce. Maybe little to less than twenty people remained within the walls, but it was still a good feat to accomplish.

The main hall was virtually empty, with the exception of those who couldn't sleep. Couldn't blame them. There was paranoia seeping within the walls most of the time, and Ludwig could almost hear their thoughts wondering, _'when will they break in... When will they eat me, it's just a matter __of time..'._

Honestly, the wall didn't make anyone feel that much better, but considering they have been standing for well over five months now, Ludwig thought personally they were pretty reliable. Guards were placed on the roof of buildings close to the wall at all times, armed, in case any dead shift too close to the perimeter. Ludwig was one of these guards due to him being already trained with a gun and most weaponry, unlike most. In order to make people feel more comfortable, he often took it upon himself to give hints and tips on how to hold and shoot a gun – but ammunition was indeed running scarce, he couldn't afford to waste it.

He and Feliciano sat at a table after they got their food; as expected, stale bread and water. Ludwig bit into it and quickly washed it down with his liquid. The Italian attempted idle chatter a little _too _enthusiastically, but the blond mostly just nodded as if he was listening. It was better to leave him rambling than telling him to shut up, it released tension in any case, even though Ludwig didn't really care about the other's life before the infection. Instead, he thought of Gilbert, his older brother, and his father. He wasn't as worried for his dad since the man could handle himself much better than even himself in survival situations – he actually influenced Ludwig at a young age to use a gun - even if it was slightly illegal, however they lived out in the countryside where no-one could get hurt. The man was strong-willed and good with any weapon he got his hands on. Gilbert, though, was another story.

His older brother displayed hardly any interest in survival skills, and instead he sat around on his laptop or phone, laughing irritatingly to himself. Their father had tried to get him to hold a gun various times, but he was in his rebellious teen phase at the time. He never listened to their father, his brother honestly thought his own flesh and blood hated him because of the way he turned out. Their father had always tried to dissolve situations by being awfully nice to Gilbert, making him feel singled out and pitied.

He was especially worried about Gilbert's health if he was fighting out there by himself, though. Ludwig had to nag and remind him to look after himself even before the infection spread, God knows if he's paying attention now. His photophobia required him to wear prescribed sunglasses whenever he went out in bright light, not to mention his oculocutaneous albinism... Which causes his unique ghostly white hair, piercing red eyes and pale skin – hell, his older brother could hardly remember the full name of his condition without Ludwig!

"Beilschmidt," a gruff voice suddenly called out to him, and Ludwig snapped back into reality. Expectant eyes including Feliciano's were focussed on him, as if awaiting an answer.

"Oh, sorry, what?"

It was none other than Sadiq, the supposed 'leader' of this sanctuary, grinning at him. The man never once declared his leadership, but everyone held a mutual acceptance of his commands and methods of running things, even Ludwig looked up to the man. "Damnit, Ludwig!" he said, slinging a strong, friendly arm around the blond. "I said it's time to go and get more supplies! We're leaving in half an hour so make sure to gather your things!" His white teeth shone, in comparison to his dark natural skin and eyes. He often wore a long dark-green coat with a white scarf around his neck, not to mention his hat for when it was too sunny. Definitely helpful to have warm clothing, considering winter, from what he could figure, was ready to pounce at them around the corner.

"Ah, yes sir," Ludwig replied, only to be met with a warning glare from the other "...Sadiq," he corrected, raising a hand to ruffle his own messy blond strands of hair, a sheepish grin evident on his face. Still, Ludwig wasn't completely out of his military habits of obeying commands. But that was another unfortunate problem the disaster had caused him, even if not that significant; it was impossible to slick his blond hair back from his face due to the lack of hair products and so instead, his fringe hung loosely across his forehead. This may be stupid, but he felt a little more reserved and self-conscious this way. He'd noted previously that he slightly resembled his older brother this way, and he inwardly shuddered at the thought.

"Meet you at the gate, then!" he said enthusiastically, waving a hand before taking off. He had one of those personalities that made you feel like you could do anything, even brutally kill. It was probably a positive thing because brutally killing for survival was much better than staying stuck in a cage like rats, wondering when our next meal will arrive.

Ludwig finished his bread and got up from the table, only to notice Feliciano's expression.

The blond couldn't leave him like that, and he silently shuffled on his spot awkwardly. "What's wrong?" he finally asked, trying to place an emotion to the Italian's face. The other was staring aggressively at the table with an intense frown, his hands balled into fists. Something seemed amiss in his chocolate-brown eyes. Terror?

"D-Don't go out there!" He audibly yelled, darting his brown eyes to his blue ones.

Terror.

Sighing, Ludwig sat back down, his veins becoming thick with irritation. They would have this conversation every time he had to go out for supplies. "It will be fine, Feliciano," he assured, resting a graceless hand on his small shoulder. "We must have had this conversation at least ten times now, I always come back." he paused for a second, noticing his expression hadn't changed a bit. He grunted. "If I don't go then who will?" he continued in an annoyed tone, in which Feliciano in response just stared, determined.

Finally, after a few moments, the Italian caved. Sighing, Feliciano idly scratched at his arm and stood up from the table. "All right," he smiled a little before transforming it into a beam of happiness "as long as you bring me something back!"

Rolling his blue eyes, Ludwig went to make his way back to his current residence near the borders of the wall. The sealed area of the town held a number of houses from past inhabitants, luckily giving them a protective roof over their heads as they slept. Ludwig didn't argue when they gave him one. Of course, he had to share; He, Feliciano and a guy named Klaus. He didn't talk much and if he did ever speak, it was requests to Ludwig; this happened a lot due to the majority of survivors being German-made, and only really spoke their homeland's tongue. Ludwig was often the translator for Sadiq, and inform people of his methods, asking whether they agree or disagree.

As he shut the door to his residence, he caught eyes with Klaus from the living room. "Oh, du bist zurück," he said. _You're back._

Ludwig nodded and walked into the living room, accessing the chest in which contained his weapons and supplies. "Ja, aber wir sind Position heraus bald wieder," he stated hesitantly as he pulled out a small first aid kit. Something was off. Klaus almost never engaged in useless chitchat such as this. Usually he would get a nod as a greeting and that's it. However, as Ludwig got his weaponry and armed himself, he caught the man grinning to himself, and the blond felt a little awkward to be in his presence. Quickly, he gestured a slight salute and dashed for the door, closing it behind him and sighing from relief.

Of course, he hadn't heard the man's last words.

Ludwig stood alone at the gate, waiting foe Sadiq and the men which he had picked. He preferred to be right on schedule or earlier when it came to meetings or organisation - 'late' wasn't exactly in his vocabulary and he couldn't possibly imagine anything worse than being delayed. Well, apart from the whole population suddenly wanting to rip off your limbs and consume you alive.

Leaning back on the wall, Ludwig reached into his shirt absent-mindedly and pulled out the necklace he knew all too well. It was simply a chain with a bulky black cross on the end, but it brought back many childhood memories.

"_Hey, Lud!" Gilbert yelled and grabbed the blond's arm to get his attention. They must have been so young when the event occurred, he was at least seven years old. Ludwig had been playing in their large garden alone since his older brother had took off at least an hour ago, he was told to 'wait here'. "Look what I got!" Grinning, Gilbert presented two objects from behind his back; two identical necklaces. Narrowing his eyes, Ludwig thought he recognised the black cross symbol from somewhere. "Don't they look like something Teutonic Knights would wear?!"_

_Rolling his blue eyes, Ludwig pouted and crossed his arms. Gilbert had been addicted to a game recently with them in, and constantly obsessed over these knights, stating they were so 'awesome and cool'. "You made me wait here all by myself for that? Gil, I don't play that game, remember..."_

_Gilbert faked agonising pain, as if he'd just been shot in the heart. "But bruder! I'm that awesome that I saved up my allowance so you wouldn't be jealous when I got mine!" Despite his 'distressed' words, Gilbert quickly placed the necklace around his brother's neck and continued to look for four-leaf clovers as he'd been doing before he darted off, the second necklace already attached to him._

_Sulking, Ludwig observed the symbol before sitting next to his brother in the patch of clovers. But then he saw it. Blue eyes widened as he reached forward and picked up the clover. Gilbert let out a yell of surprise and turned towards Ludwig quickly, snatching the four-leaf clover and cradling it like a child. Ludwig couldn't help but laugh at the sight before beginning to force Gilbert to hand it back._

From that moment on, Ludwig for some unknown reason continued to wear the necklace like religion. He had no idea where Gilbert's necklace had gone, though.

**A/N: **I'll be stopping this chapter here since it's already 5 pages long... I was going to continue but I guess that will be in the next chapter! Some intense poop will happen next, wooooooo~

Um, I hate asking this but if you have time, maaaaaybe you could review~? OkI'mSoSorryIWillGoNow

Ty to **Dom** for reviewing last time mwuehehehe, I got really motivated to continue and you gave some awesome suggestions uwu


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Throw, hit... stirr. Throw, hit... groan. Throw, miss._

For entertainment, Gilbert had resorted to ripping up little bits of paper and rolling them into balls, and of course began using the sleeping Antonio's face as a bullseye.

It was now beaming outside with sunlight, and the minute Gilbert had set eyes out the window, he groaned. It was going to be a long day. Why was it this sunny when winter was so close anyway?

_How long can he freaking sleep for?_

Gilbert scanned the office desk he was resting his feet on, and grabbed a pen. Quickly, he began roughly scribbling down some German words on a piece of paper;

_Dear Lud,_

_your awesome brother was here. Bumped into a weird Spanish guy. I have no idea where my destination is next, I'm lost. I've been to Berlin, hoping humanity would have enough sense to build a safe place in the capital. But I had no such luck._

Tapping the pen on the desk for a few seconds, Gilbert sighed and brought the note to an end with _'you better be okay, bruderlein'._

Maybe it was a hopeless wish. He'd lost count how many of these damned notes he'd made on his travels, but it helped ease the paranoia. That maybe, his brother was just behind his trail. Bringing his tired red eyes back onto Antonio, he frowned before flinging the pen at his sleeping face, causing him to jolt awake with a surprised snort.

Antonio seemed confused for a second as he looked around the room, rubbing his red eyes, until he caught a glimpse of the limp body on the floor. Suddenly and quickly, he gripped hold of his mouth in a panic, his face scrunched up, and Gilbert froze in disturbance. "Oh Gott you're not going to-"

Antonio heaved and Gilbert bounced to his feet, rushing to grab the trash-can that was hiding in the corner of the room. Surely, the second Gilbert shoved the object in front of him, the Spaniard started throwing chunks.

Immediately, the albino backed away with his nose scrunched in distaste and waited. He could have let him spew all over the floor and it wouldn't matter since they were going to part soon, but he'd panicked.

When he was finished, Antonio got to his feet and wiped his running nose.

"Uh.. better?" Gilbert awkwardly asked as he began to slip on his coat and backpack upon his shoulders. The Spaniard just nodded as he followed suit. This is when the two said goodbye, they both knew it. Wordlessly, the two made their way to the door of the building, Antonio seeming to take his sweet time reaching out for the handle, until he completely froze.

"What-"

Cutting him off, Antonio quickly spun around and barged him into the wall harshly, his arm up to his pale neck, causing a slight gasp of pain from the albino.

He fucking knew it. He should never have trusted this stranger. Glaring daggers at him, Gilbert reached up and gripped hard onto the Spaniard's arm and tried to force it away.

"You fucking... TRAITOR" he shouted as he let every muscle in his body push Antonio away. It succeeded for a second, but as Gilbert tried to slip away, the act of rebellion resulted in his body being slammed up against the wall yet again.

"No- wait!" Antonio wailed as his hold gripped tighter onto the albino, green eyes filled with desperation. "This isn't..." he couldn't finish the sentence.

Gilbert stared at the Spaniard with curious eyes, spiked with anger. And as the seconds passed, Gilbert noticed the grip on him getting lighter and lighter, until finally he was free again.

He didn't hesitate in promptly aiming his gun at the stranger as he made his pale hand reach out for the door, casting a slight side-glance outside to check if he could escape without getting consumed.

He then let his feet take his body swiftly between the buildings, making a conscious note to keep in the shadows – not only because it helped with stealth, but because his skin and eyes couldn't take it. He must have ran for half an hour, avoiding zombies and silently killing any that got in his way, because his feet now began to ache slightly.

Breathing heavily and quickly, Gilbert stopped and stooped to the ground as he opened his bag with trembling hands; he couldn't stay in the same spot for long, and the pressure was beginning to get to him. Hastily, he opened his map of Germany he'd found on a tourist's body months ago, and he marked his location. As he took note of a nearby river surrounded by trees, Gilbert yanked up his hood over his head before stuffing the map back in his bag, and took off.

He was scared, he wouldn't deny that. He was fucking terrified. He wanted to curl up in a dark corner of an abandoned house and just rot away, because he was too fearful to venture outside. However, if he did that, he would never win this game. Surely this was not a game, yes, but Gilbert felt at ease in referring to it in such terms.

Out of breath, Gilbert almost tripped at the sight of a zombie emerge from a tree and turn it's gruesome eyes towards him. The albino stopped, froze to the spot as it dragged its body towards him , making inhumane groans of hunger, thinking how his unique pale flesh would taste on it's dead taste buds. It was close now, almost three feet away.

Until finally, Gilbert slammed his gun into the dead skull. It wasn't enough. It reached out and grabbed him, saliva spitting at him, and Gilbert made a note to close him mouth to make sure none of it entered his system. Pushing it by it's neck, Gilbert reinforced the strength in his arm and hammered the gun down to the delicate rotting skull again, and this time cold blood sprayed his face. Inwardly shuddering, the meat toppled to the ground in front of him. Gilbert followed it's actions, and began to pant and heave thickly, spitting blood and saliva onto the ground.

This was getting unbearable, how long would he be like this for? Fighting for his life whilst surrounded by former friends that wanted to... _eat_ him?

As he leant there against the ground, Gilbert suddenly felt a wave of aching emotion take him. His stomach wrenched together and his beating heart tensed. As if shocked by the feeling, Gilbert immediately got to his feet and began walking, attempting to hold back the threatening sob at the back of his throat. He had no idea why he suddenly felt like this, but he hated it. Like everything else in the world. It was just another problem to worry over in this whole dilemma. Sure, it was probably natural to get the blues when you're always surrounded by corpses with no one to talk to, but Gilbert hated the fact that he was alone with this, alone to fix the problem.

"...Alone," the word escaped his mouth as a whisper before he even realised it. To cover up the sudden noise, he coughed. Not that anyone was around to care, anyway.

He had often been alone in his life. He just wasn't born or functioned to be around people. In his childhood, the other kids in school used to make fun of his appearance, and he hated it. He often ended up coming home with cuts and bruises on his face from fighting, and a lecture from his father saying it was unnecessary. Who the fuck gave them the right to call him 'whitey' anyway? Because it made them look cool? It's not like he couldn't help his appearance, anyway.

In the end, Gilbert had to be home-schooled, while his little brother got to be a normal child. Because his father was just sick of his constant fights and the amount of calls from his teachers. In a way, maybe this world suited him.

Thinking back, Gilbert didn't really register Antonio's expression nor desperate tone. He'd just acted, wanting to get away from the threat as soon as possible. The Spaniard was taller and no doubt stronger than him, but Gilbert couldn't help but think his mentality wasn't strong enough; he'd almost burst out crying when they met.

Anger built up inside him as he stomped forward, the river now becoming clear in his weak vision. What now? He wasn't sure what. He figured staying near water would help camouflage his scent. But he couldn't stay forever. Not having anything to aim for, not knowing what to do next; he hated this feeling too.

The sun beat down on his pale skin, he could feel it invading his clothes already.

Quickly kneeling on the muddy grass before the river, Gilbert hastily moulded his hands like a cup, and scooped up some of the murky water in his weaved fingers and thirstily consumed the liquid. He had no idea if it was clean, it _looked _clean, but he was so thirsty. The albino couldn't help but let out a moan of relief as the liquid slipped down his throat. He continued to drink for at least five minutes, becoming engulfed with the repetitive actions.

He was so distracted by his thirst, that he hardly noticed the body shuffle nearer and nearer until he caught glimpse of the shadow looming over him, staining the streaming clear water with darkness. His heart rapidly tensed and froze. _Not again. _Why must he always become a statue when they got too close? He could smell blood already, and as he observed the shadow's arm reach out for him, Gilbert finally jolted away and pulled his weapon out, immediately pointing it at it's skull.

He was about to pull the trigger, until he recognised what was left beneath that face stained of fresh blood, and he quickly froze yet again; red eyes filled with anger and curiosity.

"Wait!" the Spaniard yelled as he swiftly reached out and grabbed the albino's arm tightly to keep him from shooting.

"What the fuck do you want?!" he countered, trying to pry his arm back, "why did you follow me?"

Antonio locked his green eyes onto red, which seemed to last forever before the tanned man smiled warily and eventually let go. "I don't know what came over me," he started slowly, "but we'd have much a better chance at survival if we stuck together!"

"Nein!" Gilbert answered without a second notice, not even bothering to think it through. "I'm not going to drop dead all because of some pathetic little kid's presence! Fuck off! I do better solo." With this, the albino easily pushed the Spaniard away and began to get up onto his feet and collect some water in his single container.

"At least think it through, si?!" Antonio replied desperately. Gilbert knew the Spaniard didn't want to be alone, but it defeats the point if it means delaying finding his brother – no doubt the man would want to look for his friends too. "I can help you find your family!"

At this, Gilbert froze and turned his head to Antonio ever so slowly, glaring daggers. After a few seconds, Gilbert let out a sarcastic snicker. "They're dead!" he almost shouted, but Antonio simply maintained that small smile covered with blood, and Gilbert's face transformed back into a grim frown. "How do you even know I have family?" he questioned seriously.

In response, Antonio reached into his trench-coat pocket and pulled out, from what it appears, a piece of paper. Gilbert's eyes widened in horror as he snatched it from the Spaniard's hand.

"How did you get this," Gilbert asked gravely as he observed the family photo printed on the wafer-thin paper.

"It uh... Fell from your bag's pocket when you took off earlier," he replied awkwardly, "it wasn't hard finding you, I mean... Those bodies you left may as well have been a trail of marshmallows for me... minus the sweetness and cuteness," he stated, letting a slight chuckle of amusement escape his lips.

Gilbert turned away and began to shove the photo back into his bag, finally considering the other's words. However, Antonio's voice cut off his thoughts;

"Your older brother looks so strong, you sure he's dead?" the Spaniard heartlessly enquired. _Is he really so easy-going? _Gilbert pondered to himself as he shot him a look of thundering anger.

"He's my younger brother!" Gilbert spluttered furiously. He was always mistaken for the younger brother, and it drove him crazy.

"WHAT?" was Antonio's oh-so familiar reply. The albino could tell he wanted to ask what the hell happened; after all, Ludwig always ate and exercised properly whereas Gilbert just sat around all day, it was bound to happen. His little brother's growth spurt had hit him like a brick, and he'd felt his 'big brother pride' had had been flushed down the drain. Finally and thankfully, Antonio just coughed the thought away and looked at the river curiously, letting the conversation disappear.

_Would it be better if they travelled together?_ _No, he'd be eaten in no time._ _But it's an extra pair of hands, you'd get more sleep. Shut up. You're just scared of losing anybody else. I said shut up. Ohh, harsh~_

Sighing, Gilbert turned and glared at Antonio, making him feel slightly fidgety. "Fine," he clearly stated before offering his hand out to the other.

The Spaniard just looked at the pale flesh being offered to him, then he smiled and shook it. "Nice to meet your acquaintance, Gilbert!"

The albino just rolled his red eyes and pulled his hand away before plopping himself down onto the muddy grass, straining his eyes up at the sun; in consequence, it made his sensitive eyes squint and water up. Blinded for a second, Gilbert rubbed away the aggressive tears with his jacket's sleeves. That was until he heard a deafening noise reach his ears; naturally, he crapped himself as he jolted to see what the noise was. Looking around, he noticed Antonio had vanished from his sight, and he quickly brought himself to his feet.

He was about to panic until he saw Antonio's head emerge from the river, and the blood from his face had been cleared. "What do you think you're doing?!" Gilbert yelled in hushed tones.

"I'm getting clean!" the Spaniard simply laughed in response, and Gilbert didn't know how to react to this. "You joining?"

The albino shot him an annoyed look before returning to his position on the dirty grass, wanting to rest.

Antonio just laughed at this and resisted the urge to splash his new companion. Instead, he silently let himself float on his back for a while, letting the slight stream take him. It was times like this that Antonio liked, when he could just do what he wanted without the worries of being eaten or dying of hunger.

His trench-coat and backpack were waiting for him on the edge of the river, and Antonio let his feet touch the bottom of the river slowly. He was about to make his way towards his belongings until he felt a sudden vice grip wrap around his ankle.

His heart skipped a beat as he slowly glanced down to see a swollen distorted face gaze up at him with murmurous hunger.

And this was when he realised, he was going to die.

* * *

**A/N: **Hmmm I hope this chapter wasn't too short... Well, I say short, it's almost 6 pages long orz.

Anyway I'd like to thiank **Dragon-Bowl **for reviewing! dfsdkdsf I got so excited when I read it...


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Bloated eyeballs stared hungrily back at him as his body froze like a statue in shock and horror. The rotting bones gripped tightly onto his ankle, suddenly securing him in place on the rocky, imbalanced floor of the river. Looking past the murky water, Antonio could tell the figure was about to lunge; in other words, he had seconds to escape. However, that thought didn't occur to him as his brain sent out rapid distress signals, shooting adrenaline throughout his body and urging him to get away from the threat.

As if his voice had been caught in his throat until now, the Spaniard finally let out a fractured scream, evident of terror and he finally kicked and splashed at the now-lunging zombie, frenzied and scared.

Gilbert quickly jerked up from his spot on the muddy grass to locate the sound, heart beating from the sudden shriek of commotion. He saw frantic bursts of water elapse around his companion, and the albino quickly rushed to his feet and yanked his gun from under his belt before pointing it at the water, shakily adjusting his aim repeatedly due to being indecisive on the exact location of the threatening-dead.

"GILBERT," Antonio wailed helplessly as he aggressively kicked at the zombie's face with his spare foot, making his head bob in and out of the water quickly – his breath was short and came out in hurried gasps and blood now surrounded him. Lots of blood.

Gilbert cursed as he realised his gun wouldn't be of any usefulness at this distance, and hearing his companion's continuous yells of terror, he wondered if it was useless to hope for his survival. There was already dark-red liquid surrounding Antonio. However, these thoughts couldn't have time to possibly progress as he hastily launched himself into the cold, murky water, his gun still in hand.

"Kick it, dummkoph!" he roared as he firmly wrestled the water to get to his terrified companion's side.

Antonio let out an audible holler as he finally managed to save himself from the swollen flesh's grip, trying to uncontrollably and desperately scurry away. His eyes were covered in fear and breaths wildly amok.

Reaching out a pale hand, Gilbert roughly grabbed the Spaniard's clothing and launched the other's taller body behind him. Antonio immediately began to dart towards the river edge; to safety, whereas Gilbert slowly began to pace backwards, eyes scanning the surface, gun pointing at the water shakily and sweat was mixing with blood and water on his face. "Come and get it, asshole," he mumbled under his breath, however the crack in his voice displayed his fear.

Seconds pass, then moments. Complete silence surrounded him despite the duo's shaking breaths. Antonio was audibly whimpering and scanning his flesh.

Gilbert was fidgety as his red eyes scanned the water. Why was it waiting? Did Antonio already kill it? His thoughts were proved wrong when it finally burst out of the water and opened its mouth to sink rotten yellow 'teeth' into Gilbert's equally pale flesh. He froze for just a second, but that second was critical; the zombie pushed bony hands into Gilbert's shoulder and instinctively tackled him down into the water. It had all occurred in just a second. His head went under deep, and he felt an immerse pain sting him like a wasp in the back of his head. He naturally tried to thrust the snapping body off him, but its mouth was just centimetres away. Water entered his eyes, his head began to suddenly stagger and become dazed, and he swore he witnessed his own blood pour in his vision.

Then abruptly, Gilbert remembered the gun still glued in his palm, and so he dizzily forced the barrel of the weapon inside the monster's mouth – and you guessed it, shot a single bullet through its skull; brains, cranium and other ghastly elements surrounded the albino's face within the water, and he immediately shut his eyes and mouth before pushing himself upwards to the surface, gasping the warm air into his lungs as fast as possible, his vision sluggish and a deafening ringing sensation filled his ears.

He glanced down to see a creature faking life, now fully dead and at rest, or so he would like to believe so. The head was no longer intact, but rather its pieces were now floating down the river's stream. Gilbert's head ached all over, but he dragged himself through the bloody water to the edge where Antonio offered a trembling hand to help him up. He stared at it for a moment... He reached out and took it.

Not yet allowing himself to relax, Gilbert grabbed Antonio by the shoulders and began to look him over for bites. That was when he saw it, a massive wound on the Spaniard's leg. Blood ushered out of it, and he felt the disgusting need to puke right then and there.

This man, he was bitten. He was bitten and now he would be alone yet again without anyone to share the pain with. Everyone he knew, every rare encounter he had with anyone in the future would end up dying. Gilbert's head was pounding, it was agony.

He couldn't take it anymore, he hardly even processed his actions when he sluggishly reached up and felt the back of his head to find his own blood pouring. He didn't acknowledge Antonio's words that were being yelled at him. He saw his companion in front of him, his mouth moving ever so rapidly, shaking his shoulders, but neither words nor sounds were audible. That was, apart from the continuous ringing in his ears. Gilbert drowsily staggered forward to shove Antonio away from him, because quite frankly, he was beginning to get sick of the constant shaking. But then he stopped. Was Antonio whispering to him? He squinted his almost-drugged eyes, and attempted to focus his vision onto the other's pale lips; a whisper elapsed over the high-pitched ringing, but the words were not in sync with Antonio's lip movements.

_Her heart is in the hills of wet lush,  
As well as in the cold wind of season,  
It hides within the man's faint blush,  
But does so with your unknown reason._

_The streets are filled with dead,  
Their rich apparel stained with blood,  
Hear my whispers and come ahead,  
Or be doomed and raise your hood._

Gilbert's red eyes hazily glanced around to find some other source of the eerie whispers, but instead in the distance he saw silhouettes. Blurred. His sensitive eyesight was getting much worse, he needlessly noted. Those were the walking dead, no doubt about that. How far were they? He had no idea. Everything seemed to be running in slow-motion and twice the normal speed, both at the same time. The lines echoed within his mind, but he didn't feel any need to remember them whatsoever, he just wanted the surging pain to disappear. He looked down groggily; damn, that's a lot of blood.

The voice was similar to Antonio's but... different. The whisper slowly transformed into the Spaniard's loud distressed attempts to get Gilbert's attention.

"Dios mio, Gilbert! Snap out of it!" he demanded in hushed tones, wearily taking into account the albino's gushing wound on the back of his head, not to mention the quickly approaching zombies. There was no way they would make it in time if they didn't move. "Shit," he cursed as he quickly launched Gilbert over his shoulder, straining slightly at his unreasonable weight – he was much heavier than he looked. Gasping at the weight he'd put onto his wounded leg, Antonio picked up their bags and began to stride away as fast as he possibly could, but it was hard. The weight was too much, and already he was sweating.

Flashing a peek behind him, he thanked the Lord they only shuffled; well, if there even was a Lord out there. Why wasn't the omnipotent helping humanity?

He realised the disgusting creatures would be on their trail for a while; Gilbert's blood-trail didn't look like it was going to stop soon.

He winced, he strained... And, he slowly moved forward. They just needed to find somewhere safe, where he could easily kill them off without making so much sound. He forced himself to believe these words rather than the depressed thoughts of him being ripped alive for a meal.

He was terrified, and his legs shook out of fear and weight. He couldn't do it. The reeking zombies were a few feet away from them, groaning hungrily and reaching out for them; he dared not look back.

That was when he felt movement on his back, and his heart sighed in relief. Immediately, Gilbert more or less rolled off and grabbed his own bag, striding forward with focused eyes, "let's move," he said in a strained tone.

Antonio found himself watching Gilbert as they paced forward with good speed, to make sure the albino wouldn't collapse. The Spaniard couldn't help but notice the massive red blood wound Gilbert's pure white hair and winced slightly at how gruesome it looked; however it literally was completely white, not even splashed with any blond. Was it dyed? He shook his head of the thoughts and focused on the matter at hand. Looking back, he let out an exhale of relief at hardly any sight of their stalkers. However, he couldn't let his guard down. They're literally crawling everywhere.

"Are you okay?" Antonio whispered, feeling anxious at the other's consistent moans of pain.

Gilbert snapped his head to the Spaniard angrily, only to wince at the pain. "Do I fucking _look _okay, jackass?" With this, he observed their surroundings; nothing but a river and trees surrounded them. "We need to find shelter, we need to fix ourselves." Gilbert tensed slightly at the reminder of Antonio's wound on his leg. Shit. He was really bitten, wasn't he? He should just shoot him. Right now. He tightened his grip upon his weapon, slightly surprised he managed to keep his grip all this time. He'll end it before he turns.

"Yeah," the Spaniard silently agreed, "I cut my leg when I was kicking aimlessly," with this, he scratched his arm almost sheepishly at his frantic actions. "But your head looks bad..."

Immediately, Gilbert relaxed his grip upon the weapon. He was... Relived? Was that this feeling?

He didn't bother answering him. But rather, they strode forward in the blazing sun and attempted to search for some kind of shelter. Antonio made sure to kill any zombies that got too close with his axe, aiming to not make any sound as well as saving his companion the effort of exerting himself.

Hours passed, and at one point they decided to enter the overgrown trees, possibly a forest. They began to regret the decision when they were standing in front of an old, abandoned cabin covered with dirt.

Gilbert's heart sank at the sight of it. It fitted perfectly with the cabins in the past horror movies he'd watch. Shaking from the loss of blood but also fear, the albino attempted to persuade Antonio to let them search elsewhere.

But then he saw Antonio's face, he was filled with just as much terror as he.

"Shit," they both said in union.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, yes, I am aware this chapter isn't as long - I apologise. I'm staying at my friend's house for the next two weeks (did I mention that in the last chapter? Oh well) but I will try my best to upload!

Next chapter will be quite different. Also, more of Ludwig's point of view mwuaha.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**A/N:**** Before starting this chapter, I would just like to say a massive thankyou to Kaptain-Rogers on Deviantart FOR CREATING THE MOST AWESOME FANART EVER. That's right, I saw it. I was so freaking happy, you have no idea! Not one piece, either, BUT FOUR. Omfg so so happy. Thankyou so much!**

**Also, sorry for making you wait for a while for this chapter! College and University preparation is gay.**

**Oh, I went back and re-read the past chapters to fix the mistakes I was aware of but lazy to amend c': A little thing was mentioned in the last few chapters so if you don't remember since it's been a month of me not uploading, go look c;**

Despite the back-and-forth hushed disputes that went on for a good twenty minutes, the wounded duo wearily tip-toed outside the abandoned cabin, trying to detect any movement inside. They decided to settle the argument of who enters the place by having an intense game of rock-paper-scissors. Gulping, Gilbert creaked open the old door slowly and hastily peeked inside. "It's good," he whispered, motioning for the Spaniard to mimic his steps and follow him. They may be being slightly childish. Two grown men experiencing the apocalypse being intimidated by a house. Groaning, this thought snapped Gilbert from his behaviour and he straightened his posture, slamming the old door open harshly and creating a loud racket.

"H-Hey!" Antonio objected. In which Gilbert rolled his red eyes in annoyance.

Looking around in the dark space, slight light beaming through the dusty windows, Gilbert listened for any reaction caused by the noise. Nothing. His head ached and throbbed with every second that passed, blood oozing down his back and making his shirt stick to his flesh. He groggily walked inside, feet shuffling almost like the dead, and pushed himself to sit on a dusty wooden table, which creaked and groaned under his weight. Antonio focussed on barricading the door with an old, torn up couch before sitting on it, finally beginning to observe his wound and calculating whether it was serious, all the while glancing behind his shoulder to check if a murderer was at his back.

The German, however, stared into space, his vision still suffering from slight drunkenness of hitting a vital area on his head. Before long, he shut his eyelids and took a long, shaky inhale, before exhaling. This seemed to help. He did this for a long time, not even acknowledging the fact that Antonio had sneaked behind him to observe his cut. Neither of them being educated in the art of first aid, the Spaniard didn't know what to suggest, so he simply began to search the room for any useful supplies.

The room was simple, a cracked old television sat upon the floor, and next to it stood a small glass coffee table, and a lone book decorating its surface. Raising a confused eyebrows, Antonio walked up to it, thinking it looked odd compared to it's surroundings. It was red and bright, unlike the room. He picked it up cautiously, and something about the book gave him goosebumps. The book left a square surface on the table that wasn't dusty, and Antonio could swear he could just about see his reflection in it. A cold breeze entered the room from a nearby open window, again reinforcing that winter was near. He gulped. Lifting the front page ever so gently, Antonio was met with hand-written letters put together in sentences. It was in German. Frowning, he could swear the writing seemed rushed. The ink covered pastel images of cartoon chicks; a children's picture book, no doubt. He flicked through the pages, becoming even more cautious as dry, stained blood became visible on the paper.

He glanced towards Gilbert again, noticing he'd taken his dark blue jacket off to press the fabric against his head to help stop the bleeding. His emerald eyes flew back to the first page where the writing began, trying to decipher the foreign language he was unaccustomed to.

A gasp of pain came from Gilbert, and he aggressively cursed the throbbing in his head, which honestly made Antonio jump slightly. The Spaniard cleared his throat, "do you need help?"

"Ja, kill me now before I do it myself."

Antonio frowned at this statement. He knew his acquaintance was being sarcastic, but his kind-natured heart always despised that kind of talk. He clamped his grip on the red book even tighter to restrain lecturing the wounded man, and instead silently walked up to him and smacked the book on Gilbert's forehead. Not enough to injure him, but enough to hurt. "That won't do, amigo. You need to find your family."

About to protest, Gilbert snatched the book from Antonio and was about to hit him even harder with it, but he recognised the letters on the book's spine, and his red eyes stared at it for a second before lowering the book down to open it. "I remember this," he calmly stated, flicking the first page open.

"Ah-" Antonio tried to warn, about the writing inside. He felt it wasn't good news, and the look on Gilbert's face reinforced his worries.

Red eyes widened, and sweat began to pour from his sickly-pale skin. Gilbert's breath became ragged with anger as he continued reading the rushed letters on the page.

_'Gott, wenn jemand da ist, bitte lassen Sie uns finden. Mein kleines Mädchen und ich habe es geschafft, uns im Keller verstecken mit so viel liefert, wie wir finden konnten. Bitte helfen Sie mein kleines Mädchen, bitte! Bitte!'_

_(God, if anyone is out there, please let us see. My little girl and I've managed to hide in the basement with as much supplies as we could find. Please help my little girl, please! Please!)_

His hands gripped as tight as they could on the book, and he felt like he wanted to scream at whatever sick FUCK made humanity live in circumstances like this!

"Antonio..." He managed to whisper, his voice was calm yet suppressed an immense fierce killing intent, and the Spaniard caught on to this. His emerald eyes attempted to snap a glimpse of the other's red orbs, but the white, bloodied hair hid them, and Antonio felt another shiver down his spine.

"W-What does it say?" he stuttered, swallowing a lump in his throat. His eyes caught Gilbert's hands gripping tightly onto the book, and even thought he witnessed them trembling for a second.

Suddenly, the albino jumped off the table, almost loosing his balance, and swiped his gun back into his hand, the book still present in the other. Red eyes finally met green, and Gilbert wanted to actually _hurt _something. He hadn't had this feeling for a while. Last time he did, he was facing kids around his age at the time, nine, who insisted on discriminating him because of his looks, and began to even physically hit him because of it. The feeling was the same as then; the utter disgust with humanity, and how they insisted on making others become cornered, just because they were weak or different.

Calmly, Gilbert began to explain what was written on the paper, his red eyes now avoiding any eye contact whatsoever. "A little girl is probably underneath us, underneath these floorboards, with her mother or father, rotting to death, or looking up and wanting to eat us alive."

And then all of a sudden, it hit Antonio. _The smell. _He had become so accustomed to it that he didn't even notice until he thought of it. Dying and withered, rotting flesh belonging to a little girl, pure blonde hair and innocent German blue eyes, becoming corrupted with insects trying to dispose of her, and inhumane noises sounding from her black lips. He could imagine it now, and he felt utterly sick. Placing a tanned hand over his mouth, he uttered a "_Dios_".

Neither moved an inch, knowing what they had to do but not wanting to, waiting for the other to be responsible. Sighing, Gilbert idly placed two delicate fingers on the back of his head to see if the bleeding has stopped, and winced. It was still tender. Reassuring his grip on the gun, he glanced around for another door. There was only one, and it was secured with chains and bolts.

A hand was placed on Gilbert's shoulder, and stopped him from advancing towards the door, "Wait," Antonio urged. "I'll go." Annoyed, Gilbert shoved the hand off him and stomped towards the door, beginning to smash the chains with the hilt of the gun, only to have no avail. Grunting, he quickly aimed the gun at the lock, and shot a deafening bullet. It fell to the floor.

After a moment of hesitation, Gilbert sorrowfully opened the door to be greeted with concrete stairs that led down, as well as the oh-so pleasant stench of a rotting corpse. He didn't want to do this, he really didn't. Not to a _little girl._

That was when his heart stopped for a second and his surroundings went black. The noise he was hearing... It wasn't possible! Antonio, being right behind him, witnessed the same thing, and instantly barged passed Gilbert down the stairs, into the darkness.

_That sound... It was crying! _Gilbert thought over and over mentally, staring into the darkness which the Spaniard has vanished into. Letting out a huff to help control himself, he rushed down the stairs, slightly unbalanced due to the weakness in his legs, in which his body was trying to force him down to help heal his wounded head. In the darkness, he could slightly make out a large figure, Antonio, holding a smaller one in his arms, and Gilbert's eyes widened in shock, his breath getting stuck in his throat. Moving closer, comforting hushed whispers from Antonio filled Gilbert's ears, and even made _him _feel at ease. He noted that the little girl was incredibly thin, and her whimpers were weak from undoubtedly having cried so much. Ugly blood decorated her pure face.

This was when he remembered the stench, and immediately snapped his body to look around for any other signs of movement. There had to be something rotting in here to cause that smell!

"Papa," the girl quickly blubbered, "he bit me", she offered in broken English. "Ich wusste nicht, was zu tun ist!"

At this, Gilbert noticed the slump body in the corner of the room- it sat up against the concrete, with blood splattered up the wall behind its head. A gun sat idly a little distance away from the body. Gilbert's gaze returned to the two alive and sat a little behind Antonio, wanting to help calm the girl yet not wanting to get too close in case she turned. Surely Antonio knew too, yet he still remained hugging the girl as close as he possibly could, his voice beginning to tremble.

"Shh everything's going to be okay, papa's in heaven," he hushed, cradling the fragile body in his arms as if it were about to break. The girl, not understanding English, simply let the stranger's voice comfort her, and she suddenly stopped crying, her breathing became short. A pale, fragile hand reached out to cup Antonio's tanned cheek, as if seeking something she couldn't see.

"Pa-Papa...?" She whispered, shine that represents life gone from her eyes, and looked blindly up at Antonio.

The Spaniard, tears rolling down his cheeks, held the smaller hand firmly yet gently on his face, letting her feel warmth. "Ja, Papa", he lied, hoping to offer the girl some comfort in her final moments. "Name?" he painfully questioned "What's your name?"

The little girl smiled from relief, emotion paining her face. The small, delicate hand went limp in Antonio's hands and he panicked, emerald eyes widening from disbelief. "Lili..." She breathed out, her eyelids now closed and wet tears staining her cheeks, mixing with her father's blood. "Papa..."

Nothing. Nothing else was evident she was alive. Dead, abandoned tears hit the cold concrete floor, and Antonio tried his best to hold in his own fluids. Wretched and strained wails escaped Antonio's mouth, and he held the still warm dead body as close as he possibly could, cursing aloud for them not getting here earlier. Gilbert simply looked away from the scene, a frown placed on his forehead, not being capable of witnessing it any longer.

In the end, all he could manage was a strong, awkward hand on the Spaniard's shoulder, as well as having the mental strength to pull the man apart from the girl, telling him over and over that she was gone. Each time he went to separate them, Antonio only gripped tighter or pushed him away. It was truly a horrible sight to witness. He decided to just let the man settle down on his own, and so, he sat there, letting the mourns of his friend pound into his ears.

Lifting a strong, pale hand, Ludwig motioned for Sadiq to quietly advance in his direction, all the while keeping concentrated sea-blue eyes on the worn-down supply store on the opposite side of the street. Pulling his brown jacket closer to his body in an attempt to keep the bitter air off his skin, the blond quickly looked left and right on the road; watching for human, flesh-eating traffic, so to put. It was quiet. Almost too quiet. He stepped out from the wall when the others got to him, only to find a massive hand drag him back behind the wall. Ludwig turned to protest, discovering Sadiq's hand firmly placed over his mouth, his brown eyes fiercely staring at something up above. Ludwig followed the man's gaze to witness a walking, straggled body on top of their destination's roof. It was making it's way towards them hungrily, grunting out cannibalistic roars.

When the body reached the edge of the roof, it simply fell to the concrete floor. A mass of groans emitting from the group when they heard it smack against the hard floor. Ludwig blinked at the limp body on the path. Smashed guts now decorated the entrance to the shop, and the young German couldn't help but grimace at the ghastly sight.

The group had already gotten a number of supplies to last them and the rest of the group in Celle for a few more weeks. They had a group of five at the moment, in which only he and Sadiq were above average with a ranged weapon. The other three men were mostly there to carry the supplies, truth be told. Rucksacks decorated each man's body, it was a minimum that one person carried two large bags, in order to increase their inventory space. Ludwig grunted at the terminology he used; _inventory. _Rubbing his temples, the blond advanced across the street, being now free from Sadiq's grasp, cursing his mind for making the situation seem like a stupid video game his brother plays.

They hung outside the shop for a few minutes, poking the dead body on the floor with their boots to make sure it was indeed, never going to rise again. Ludwig offered to stay outside and guard, only for the men to sigh in relief and continue into the shop, to his disappointment. He didn't want to stay and guard, really. All that responsibility...

The blond frowned and tightened his grip on the weapon, reacting the stance in which he took in the military. He'd protect these people.

Ludwig absently looked up at the sky, letting the freezing breeze lift his blond locks from his face, offering him a slight refreshing sensation. The sky was now turning black, and they needed to get back as soon as possible. In reality, they weren't all that far from the camp, a mile or two, maybe. Although all shops had been looted of valuables when the crisis started, most still had food and drink in this area. They were lucky, but they couldn't last like this forever.

A good amount of time passed, and the sun had retreated. Now, the moon loomed over the area and Ludwig pointed it out to the group. They all agreed on returning.

The walk back was mostly silent, if you excuse the murderous weapons killing ex-humans that walked too close to them. Ludwig's mind had been in a place of its own for a few minutes now, and didn't hear when Sadiq or the group began to curse until they suddenly began to bolt past him. For a second, he fumbled on his feet and quickly glanced around for any other movement. His nose twitched from an unfamiliar scent. He sniffed. Sweat began to pour from what he witnessed, and his eyeballs trembled from what stood in front of him. _F-Fire...? _

Celle was set ablaze, and the makeshift walls crumbled from the heat. The heat smashed into his face whilst the bitter cold air tried to regain its rightful place. The heat laughed at him, and made the sweat pour more intently on his body, burning his exposed face as his feet took him closer and closer to the village. He was now inside the boarders, hot soot plastered onto his face. Worry overlapped him, accompanied by rage. He honestly didn't know how to react, the walls which these people went through to make in the last moments of humanity... Someone had the fucking _DISRESPECT _to set them on fire?! Did they have a fucking death wish? Ludwig ground his teeth together in fury, and gripped his weapon hard enough to make his hand bleed from the friction. The group was scattered, and no order was present. He passed familiar faces, dead on the floor, clothes still being corrupted by the sick flames, their German blue eyes open in fear, even in death.

Suddenly, Ludwig felt a surge of adrenaline slam through his body, and he took off as fast as he could, boots harshly smacking the ground as he barged through fallen stone and wood from housing, to get to his own sanctuary he had only just gotten used to. He didn't pass a survivor, everyone was dead; Fallen beneath debris with arms reached out for help, horrified expressions on their faces. Slamming his front door open, he was met with flash of wildfire and smoke, forcing him back to almost cough his lungs out. Saliva managed to work its way from the corner of his mouth from heaving so much, but the young man quickly stripped his jacket off and held the fabric over his nose and mouth. Finally, he barged into the fire.

He knew this wasn't a safe thing to do, he was taught from a young age to stay away from fire. However, his body seemed to move on its own, his mind seemed elsewhere as he repeated over and over _'I'm going to fucking kill him'._ Continuously, he coughed harshly into his jacket, and his eyes were wet and stinging from the black smoke engaging within his system. Lungs heavy and skin burning, Ludwig made his way into the living room, where the fire was at its fullest. He quickly noted his house-mate, sitting casually on a chair with his back to him, a glass of rare to come-by wine sitting on a table next to him.

"Klaus!" The German roared at the top of his lungs above the sound of crackling fire in his ears, taking all he could to refrain from coughing his insides out. His blood was pumping from anger. Memories from earlier this morning flashed behind his eyes, of Klaus being more conversational than usual, and Ludwig's eyes bulged from the realisation despite the black gas staining his whites. _It was this lunatic!_

The blond aggressively made his way in front of Klaus to get a glimpse of him, and to punch his fucking brains out, only to discover the man smirking up at him from the chair. "Ludwig, mein lieber Junge," he purred sarcastically as a section of the ceiling caved in, creating a racket of debris that infiltrated his ears.

Ludwig's breath was ragged and shaky from the anger within him, and he wanted nothing more than to see this man dead! It was strange, Klaus seemed so laid back and calm. But this just made Ludwig's blood boil even more rapidly. He opened his mouth to roar insults at the man, however, he suddenly realised Klaus' hand held a small pistol, pressed against his own tanned, slightly wrinkled skull. He was still smiling. Ludwig's eyes became even wider from the sight, and was about to reach out to snatch the gun off the man, but it was too late. His ears hardly even registered the deafening shot of a bullet, but he will surely always remember how the warm blood felt that slashed on his face and clothes. Klaus' body dropped in the chair, his head bowed down as if to apologise, however a hole gushing with blood now adorned the man's skull – and Ludwig let out a low shriek of terror.

Feet glued to the ground, fire scalding his skin, and house burning to pieces. Ludwig stood there for seconds which felt like hours. He was all accustomed to killing people and watching people be killed, but there was something so incredibly wrong and... _sad _about someone taking their own life. It made him feel like _he _was the one to blame. Swallowing the remaining lump in his tightened throat, he held his jacket closer to his face and rushed as fast as he could out the house. It wasn't an easy task, flaming walls crumbled under the heat, and a piece of scorching metal from the house's frame scraped his forehead, and it burnt and pained and throbbed like crazy.

Finally, he was out, and he just carried on running. Where was he supposed to go now? Was he to be alone just like before? What happened to protecting these people? He went out for supplies to help them live, but, they ended up dying anyway. His lungs rebelled against him, and he stopped to cough, phlegm and bits of blood spat out onto the burnt floor, and he didn't even realise his name being called out to him.

Looking up finally with dazed eyes, Ludwig found a small group of people. Living or dead, he wasn't sure.

"Beilschmidt!" The familiar voice called, and his vision cleared to find Sadiq holding a limp body in his arms, gesturing him over to them. Behind, a few strange, burnt faces he wasn't as familiar with cowered behind the stronger man, tears running down their faces, mumbling rushed, panicked words. Then his blue eyes recognised the body in Sadiq's arms; Feliciano. Was he dead? Was he alive? He wasn't sure, but hundreds of thoughts rushed through his head as his feet began to make their way towards the small group, Feliciano's body becoming even more clearer as he approached, and even more burnt and bloodied as he did so.

The dark night sky loomed over the duo as they silently stood outside the gloomy cabin, Antonio's tears still staining his face, but no noise was heard from him any more. They sorrowfully observed the two hills of dirt in front of them, one larger and one smaller. Gilbert wasn't the religious type, especially in this day and age, but Antonio had demanded that crosses were to be put on top of their graves in which they dug. It wasn't much, but they managed to find some large sticks in the forest and tied them together before digging them atop the dirt.

The stars shone bright despite the event that took place, and Gilbert mumbled to Antonio they should go inside. In response, the Spaniard just crouched in front of the girl's grave and placed his hand together, muttering a prayer Gilbert knew all too well;

"_Our Father, Who art in heaven  
Hallowed be Thy Name;  
Thy kingdom come,  
Thy will be done,  
on earth as it is in heaven.  
Give us this day our daily bread,  
and forgive us our trespasses,  
as we forgive those who trespass against us;  
and lead us not into temptation,  
but deliver us from evi-"_

"Stop," Gilbert demanded as he placed a disruptive hand on the man's shoulder. A frown plastered his face. He really didn't want to hear the last part, there was no way in hell he wanted to. With this, he quickly turned around and retreated into the cabin, pulling his dark blue jacket over his shoulders more securely to fend off the bitter cold. Inside, he decided to sit next to the broken television and rummage through his bag to find the tinned beans he'd managed to salvage in the cabin.

He idly opened the bright red picture book named 'The missing chick' in English, before stealing Antonio's knife for a second to open the tin. This was a very popular children's book back in the day, especially in Germany. His father used to read it to him and Ludwig almost every night. Gilbert remembered identifying with it because the little missing chick ran away since he was different, and people teased him.

As his memories took him, his eyelids became heavy, and those tired red orbs finally began to rest. How long had it been since he last slept? He wasn't sure. A couple of days, at the least. The bags under his eyes were dark, and the frown was still evident even when he was sleeping.

An hour passed, and Antonio finally gave up his attempt to stay with the bodies due to the cold, deciding to find as much warmth as possible again. "I think we should-" he halted immediately as he turned around to face the other man, only to find him motionless on the floor. Antonio blinked before shutting the awfully loud creaking door as quietly as humanly possible; with every creak came a cringe from Antonio and a slight glance towards Gilbert. Sighing from slight irritation at him having to keep watch, Antonio sat a few feet away from Gilbert and hugged his own body, thinking about the events which took place that day, and yet again, his eyes quenched up from tears threatening to surface. He wiped his now-running nose with his sleeve. "Lili..." he murmured, "Sorry we didn't get here earlier". He truly was sorry, and the amount of times he said it over and over again in his head didn't make him feel any better.

**A/N: ****Waaah this chapter is a little longer since I made you guys wait a month for it ;D I enjoyed writing this chappie. Hmm I hope you guys like it, at least! Let me know what you think. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Black boots trudged through the squelching mud, disappearing under the sloppy mess before reappearing when the blond took another step forward. The sounds of footsteps diving into mud were audible from the front of Ludwig, as well as behind. Cold, German rain poured down on them. This didn't mean they could take it easy, though. Sure, they were at lower risk of being attacked, but Ludwig used to always take precautions when it came to catching colds. His blue eyes kept gazing at the repetitive movement his legs were taking, forcing him forward almost subconsciously. Celle was gone. Their only sanctuary got snatched away from him, just like everything else in his life. Only a few now remained, and every survivor walked on in silence, not knowing their destination. Sadiq insisted on finding shelter as quick as possible, everyone agreed because honestly, they were just about ready to give up on life; someone telling them what to do was better than leaving them to make their own decisions.

He spent sweet time counting the feet in the sludge; one... two... four? No. Six. There was six of them left out of the forty-ish survivors in Celle. They couldn't help the fires when they arrived. Flames burnt everywhere, and the walls succumbed to the ground, zombies had already infiltrated when they tried to search for the living. The images were engraved in Ludwig's head. The heat. The inferno was unbearable. He was sure his skin was still surrounded by the blistering flames, he could almost feel it despite the numbing, freezing water hitting his skin. He felt his right hand twitch suddenly, so he shifted his eyes upon it – it trembled in response. But this wasn't what surprised him. Blood oozed with pus from multiple massive burns on his palm and fingers, flesh stringy and limp. Mud invading his wound made it sting, almost driving him crazy. His breath hitched at the sight, and his mind rushed into a state of panic, sweat now beginning to build, adding to the fluids on his face. He suddenly halted from the shock of the sight, feeling someone smaller bump into his back, complaining.

"Hey! Watch where you're stoppin..." The person's voice cut off as they caught a glimpse of Ludwig's ghastly hand, and a shaky breath emitted from the stranger after a few seconds, along with a shudder. The voice was a higher pitch than what he was accustomed to. Curious, he glanced to his side to discover a woman cringing at the ugly sight, her green orbs focussed on his wound. "H-How the hell did you do that?" She was trying to act composed, but Ludwig could read her like a book. She wanted to scream or give someone a good punch – identifying which one was difficult... Maybe he could read her like a closed book instead.

Ludwig kept a curious gaze on the woman, not really clicking on that he was meant to reply. Suddenly, a drop of cold rain slipped from a strand of his blond hair onto his pale cheek, and the German finally figured it had been raining for a long time, because his blond locks were flat on his forehead from being soaked. His eyes widened, and he remembered. He'd reached out for the door knob, not considering it would be sizzling hot from the fire on the inside of his temporary house. The metal forced its heat on his flesh, and he didn't even react when he lifted his hand from it, not noticing his skin transfer off his hand and onto the door from the blazing temperature, forming bloodied blisters almost immediately.

"I tried to save someone..." He croaked out. In response, the woman frowned her thin brown brows before landing a surprisingly hard slap on Ludwig's back encouragingly. She smiled a sad smile at the German before walking past him, her boots making the familiar squelching sound. He slowly started to walk again. No doubt she wanted to get as far away from him as possible; his blue eyes squinted in disgust even from just remembering the sight. Honestly, his hand throbbed like his heart, and stung of pain immensely, but he'd probably been through worse... Probably. Taking a bullet was certainly hell. A small glimpse of amusement speckled in his brain the second he thought of the memory. He remembered his family's reactions well when he had to tell them when he returned home from the military that he got shot – it was to be expected, after all. Vater had screamed, and Gilbert didn't know how to react. His older brother more or less laughed at him from being so stupid, and that the 'awesome' Gilbert wouldn't give the enemy a chance to shoot at _him._

Quietly, Ludwig witnessed the woman lean in to Sadiq's ear and whisper something to him, in which the leader sighed before slowly nodding. Ludwig's blue eyes focused on Feliciano's limp body, still being held in Sadiq's arms. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't worried for the poor thing. They managed to perform a little first aid on the boy, enough to help the pain, but the German wasn't used to him being so still and quiet. It was eerie in a way.

They walked, and walked. A few hours had passed since the incident, and Ludwig estimated they had just entered early morning. The sun wasn't up yet, but it would soon be seen. The air was cold as they marched through the large field. The once flushed green grass was now brown from the drop in temperature, but most of it was sludge. Ideally this was the best way to move. They could see around them clearly, and the rain covered the smell of their zombie-magnet flesh.

As time went on, he found the woman that bumped into him earlier had started conversing with him yet again. Even if he nodded, or grunt every now and again, she'd smile and carry on with her stories. Her name was Elizabeta, apparently. He vaguely remembered her helping around the infirmary in the main hall back in Celle. She was the only woman amongst the survivors, and Ludwig respected her for this. Surely she had skill at fighting... Or surviving.

"Alright, everyone, we'll stop here." Ludwig's eyes were torn from the ground upon hearing the deep, gruff voice. Little did he realise it was now morning, and they were no longer in the field like he last remembered. But rather, they stood before a small village. He really needed to pay more attention if he wanted to protect himself and the group. He wasn't able to control it, his mind kept drifting to and from consciousness, and his mind freely busied itself in remembering memories from the past. He had to wonder... Was he dying? He shook his head of the thought quickly.

Elizabeta was evidently happy since a relieved sigh escaped her lips and walked in front of the group a little, eager to advance. "It'll be nice to get out of this stinking rain..." she muttered, frowning at how wet her coat now was. Ludwig mentally agreed with her, and wiped the water from his face quickly with his uninjured hand. They began to walk forward, a small sense of relief amongst them.

Advancing through the village carefully, the group moved with silent steps, making sure all directions could be scouted around them. Ludwig had his rifle gripped in his uninjured hand. If he had to shoot, he had to pay extra attention – as his right hand was the more dominant one. He swallowed a lump in his throat at the pain he was enduring. He didn't want to look down at it though – it was beginning to swell last time he checked. They eventually came to a small, worn-down shop. Nodding in agreement, one of the survivors lead the way in, and Ludwig was surprised at the man's confidence. He was sure the same man was whimpering earlier; he remembered his long blond German hair covering his eyes which were releasing liquids down his pale cheeks. Sadiq adjusted his hold on Feliciano, clearly his arms getting tired and numb from continuously holding him. "Should I take over...?" Ludwig questioned – only to be met with a confident laugh and a hard bump on his shoulder.

"If you want to take over anything, take over the lad's food intake! He's way too thin, evet?" Ludwig was surprised at the different word escaping the man's lips at the end, he was just so used to the man speaking English. What nationality was he, anyway...? Midde-Eastern, Ludwig guessed. He also noticed that the man had a habit of saying the last word in a sentence in a much higher pitch, as if to emphasise his points... A weird trait to have, he must admit.  
In the end, the large man placed the boy gently on the floor in order to rest his arms. Leaning down, Sadiq observed Feliciano's wounds again. "They don't seem too bad, but the kid's only groaned and twitched ever since I picked him up. Must be in shock." Standing back up, he placed a dark hand to his chin in deep thought. Considering the other's words, Ludwig stared at the teenager's face before a sudden realisation took over him. Leaning down in front of the Italian-American on one knee, he reached out his pale uninjured fingers to touch the boy's wrist. The teen flinched. Frowning out of frustration, the blond began to regain the specific intimidating appearance in which he possessed. He wrapped his thick fingers around his wrist and spent a moment checking his pulse. The beats started at a normal pace, but with each moment that passed, the pulse picked up, and the blond swore the boy began to sweat bullets. A blond eyebrow twitched out of anger before he took a deep breath. "I once killed a man in his sleep by-"

"NOO," the boy screamed, jolting up and suddenly head-butting the German from the sudden movement. Ludwig fell back onto his backside and placed a hand over his forehead, shutting his eyes out of pain. Feliciano did the same. "I DON'T WANT TO BE KILLED LUDDY-" he continued, flailing his burnt arms about carelessly.

"What the **hell** do you think you're playing at, you idiot?!" The German roared, immediately making the teenager become silent, as well as the rest of the group. All eyes were on him now. "Now isn't the time to be playing sleeping beauty, you lazy imbecile!" With that, the German angrily stood up and turned his back to the brunette, storming past the group to observe the almost-empty shelves, a frown plastered on his face. He heard the group fuss over the boy as soon as he started wailing. He hated that the boy could freely place his burden's on the group, and they were completely fine with it. Sure, he was the youngest in the group, but that was no excuse. He was pathetic. Ludwig threw the empty bottle of water he was gripping onto at the wall aggressively, relieving some of the stress in his system.

Half an hour must had passed, and they were yet again exploring the town, Feliciano now trudging behind pathetically. The same blond member of the group from before, that Ludwig didn't know the name to yet, had grabbed his sturdy shoulders and yanked him back, telling him to shush. This was when he noticed the walking dead slowly appear from behind the wall he was about to walk past. It saw us, and immediate instinct was for it to lunge. Sadiq skillfully and quietly slammed his rifle in the body's skull. A loud crunch made them all grimace. However it still twitched and groaned and struggled for the fake life it had. Elizabeta, without giving any other member a chance, slammed a brick into the rotting, fragile head to stop it altogether. Black grunge, blood, covered her hand, and she disgustedly wiped it on her wet clothes. The group was silent as the woman stepped back and observed her kill, breathing heavy and hard. Fiery green eyes looked the group over, and her hands went straight to her hips "Well, you guys coming?" The woman turned around and began to walk. Ludwig quickly looked at the man holding his shoulder for confirmation of what just happened; the man nodded. The group followed like little chicks would follow their mother. Of course, their weapons were still gripped tightly in case anything got too close.

"It's surprisingly quiet..." Sadiq muttered under his breath, making Ludwig's ears twitch. The man knew of Ludwig's hand, but decided on ignoring it for now; they couldn't do anything until they found shelter for a few days. For now, though, they needed to get medication or else Ludwig might have to lose his hand to an axe. Sadiq intentionally scouted for one as they explored the town. The group now had their backs against a wall, Sadiq in front looking for any signs of movement in the small medication clinic across the street. Feliciano held and clinged onto Ludwig from behind, which annoyed the German to no end. However, he was still a boy, and probably wasn't even aware of how to wield a gun. Sighing, the blond mentally noted to teach him one day. They rushed forward into the clinic, a little bell ringing when they opened the door to make their presence known to corpses that likely weren't acting as cashiers. The familiar blond stranger dived striaght into searching for meaningful supplies, talking about which medication did what. Truth be told, there was next to nothing here. If anything, it was just a bottle of paracetamol and some bandages. Deciding he wasn't any help at the moment, he grabbed the white cloths and forced Feliciano down onto a chair, an intent frown on his face.

"Luddy I'm sorry-" the teenager whimpered. In response, the blond smacked his head, earning another wail, before unwrapping the bandages.

"Just shut up. I shouldn't have snapped, ja?" He refused to meet the boy's brown orbs – he could feel an awkward moment coming along, so he cleared his throat and looked up. "Where does it hurt? I'm not too skilled with doing this but I know how. It's not like they'll do much, either..."

Surprised, the brown haired boy stared for a moment before giving the German a warm smile. "I'm a-okay, sir!" he gave a mock salute before snatching the bandages. "I'll fix you up instead." The boy glanced at his bloody, weeping hand and gulped before bringing the cloth to the German's skin.

"Woah woah, Feli!" The blond from earlier called as he quickly rushed over, "what are you doing? You need to disinfect it first!" Feliciano flinched at him being told off again. Ludwig sighed at the sight of a tear threatening to escape the boy's eyes yet again.

"I'm sorry, Jamie..." was all he could say in response. The man sighed and pulled out a rare sight, a bottle of water, and a clean cloth from the looks of it. He met Ludwig's eyes.

"I couldn't find a proper disinfectant, so I'll have to do my best. It'll probably hurt a lot." He warned, however the blond just nodded in response, wanting to get it out of the way as soon as possible. The two sat down, Feliciano staring intently, hoping to learn something new. It took a while; Jamie's fingers worked their magic on the wound gently whilst others searched the clinic. They couldn't get that far though since the door to the next room, possibly for staff, was locked. They searched for something to open it or break it down. Looking back to his hand, he witnessed the wound clean from blood and pus, but the sight still made him sick to the stomach. It was still continuously weeping with vicious, yellowish-white fluid. The water was quickly running out, and Ludwig knew Jamie was trying his best to conserve it, but the natural fluids just kept flowing. Eventually, it got bandaged up, and Ludwig nodded as thanks.

"Hmmm... Thank God that's sorted," Elizabeta chirped, walking over with a smile on her face. "Much better to look at." Her green eyes drifted outside the window in front of her, smile still evident on her face. Personally, Ludwig couldn't understand how she nor Feliciano could be so carefree most of the time. He was about to say just that, but the woman's face suddenly dropped as her eyes focused on something in the distance. She snapped her body around to Ludwig and Feliciano before rapidly pushing herself up against them to make sure they drop to the ground. "GET DOWN, **NOW!**". Without hesitation, everyone fell to the ground at the authoritative tone, mostly out of shock, just a second before an ear-piercing smash of the window deafened them. Shards of glass fell onto the woman as they all quickly found shelter. A single bullet rolled on the white ground of the clinic as the locked door burst open, and unknown bodies flooded the room, weapons pointed at them.

* * *

"Lovino!" Antonio cried upon seeing the familiar growling boy, arms outstretched and running towards the teenager happily, about to embrace him with his loving Spanish aura. Antonio knew the other's stubborn behaviour, and predicted he would try to avoid his Spanish contact, so he was on high alert. As soon as Lovino went to dodge, Antonio's green eyes flickered mischievously and his tanned hands grabbed the boy's collar, luring him in, and securing him with his arms. "Ohhh, Lovi, you're so _cute!" _He purred, petting the boy'd brown hair which now tickled beneath his chin.

"Oi! Get off me you _idiot!_" he wailed in response, frantically punching Antonio's shoulder in an attempt to escape, "I said get OFF!" he pushed with all his might, and for a second he almost got free, but the Spaniard reassured his grip.

"No es posible!" he chimed in response, chuckling at the teenager's reaction. As if from nowhere, he saw a shining head of blonde silky hair appear in his vision, and his green eyes met another pair of emeralds. Grinning at each other knowingly, the woman leant in and placed a small peck on the teenager's cheek. The boy immediately tensed and stopped all movement. Antonio pulled back a little to observe him go red, like a little tomato. "Ah! Lovi, you like Florinda?" he teased as he witnessed the boy's face go as red as Mars gradually. He flicked his cheerful green eyes up at the woman, and was met with bulging bloody eyeballs, eyelids rotting from her face. Antonio's smile was wiped, and he stepped back from the sight. Florinda's shining blonde hair was no longer full of life, a few strands only managed to survive on her head. His stomach churned as he felt something rip into his neck. Slowly, he glanced down to see that Lovi's face no longer flushed with emotion, but rather it was pale and circles of flesh had rotted from his once-pink lips. His own flesh and muscles were stolen from the reeking-creature and-

"**NO!"**

His body jolted awake, his eyes flew open. And he quickly realised the breath in him had vanished. Panting, it took a few seconds to regain the breath he'd lost from the sudden outburst. Shaky exhales emitted from his mouth as Antonio calmed himself down. Placing a hand to his sweating forehead, Antonio's eyes glazed over whilst focussing on the dusty wooden floorboards. He could hear the knocking of his heart beat faintly against his chest. It didn't even sound like it was coming from his chest. Pure internal pain.

Quickly remembering where he was, the Spaniard snapped his eyes around the room in search for his company, only to discover the ghostly man still soundly asleep, his head lulling to one side. Did he not wake him? Blinking his green eyes, Antonio silently got up and stretched. His ass was numb from sitting down for so long. He felt sorry for when Gil woke up. Squinting upon the sunlight invading his eyes from dusty windows, the Spaniard noted that it was around midday, however despite this and the long coat that clung to his shoulders, Antonio shivered from the cold. The knocking of his heart suddenly picked up again, and a tanned hand was placed upon his chest, hoping to calm it down. He released a trembled sigh to control his breathing. However, his breath hitched yet again upon realising the knocking didn't match the actual beating of his heart. Tensed, the man slowly guided his eyes to the wooden door of the cabin, frozen to the spot. Ears twitched and strained for sound.

_Knock. Knock. Shift. Knock._

A lump formed in his dry throat, and it took an immense effort for Antonio to swallow it. His heart now beating faster and faster, the Spaniard slowly reached into his rucksack and pulled out his axe, using both hands to firmly grip it.

Creaks from the old wooden floorboards was the response of the man slowly and cautiously walking towards the door. His back pressed up against the wall next to the door, and Antonio realised after a moment that we was frozen to the spot – the 'knocking' became more audible, and high-pitched, inhumane groans came from the other side of the wood. The knocking was the sound of the creature trying to get and eat the flesh it had probably been aware of for hours. Thank God they didn't have the ability to learn how to open a door from trial and error.

The Spaniard took several deep breaths, ready to swing the door open and strike, until the noises suddenly stopped. Pressing an ear against the wood after a few silent seconds, he attempted to listen. Nothing. Nothing but the bitter wind howling outside. Quickly and quietly, he moved in front of the door and laid a palm on the wood, hesitatingly leaning in to look out of the small peek-hole. He was greeted with the cabin's entrance, decorated with Autumn leaves. He adjusting his head slightly to try and get a better view, but he could see nothing. He retreated back. A brown, confused eyebrow lowered on the Spaniard's forehead before he placed a hand on the cold knob, and swung the door open, heavy axe already in the air to strike.

There was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary in sight within the second the door was opened. Maybe it was a foolish action to take. Actually, he knew it had been a foolish action to take. He especially knew this when he heard a struggled, croaked shout sound from below him. The second he heard this, he immediately stepped back into the house rapidly, however his brain couldn't keep up with his body, and he tripped even before he laid eyes upon the familiar little Lili.

The decomposition process wasn't as advanced as some of the gruesome creatures he'd laid eyes upon, but compared to just a few hours ago, the prettiest and purest little creature he'd seen in a long time had been cruelly corrupted. Her sky-blue eyes were replaced with blinded-white ones, and her already pale flesh was now grey, lips blue and dead. Antonio could already smell the rotting stench from the child. He was frozen to the spot, and his lips trembled, wanting to shout for help but not aiming for the girl to get killed. Dirt from her burial bruised her skin. She approached him within seconds, mouth wide open already prepared to consume him. He was now pinned down, his head pressed against the floor in an attempt to get as far away as possible. His stronger hands pushed her as far away from him as possible via her shoulders, but her teeth still snapped at him in an attempt to get lucky and take a big chunk of his juicy, sweating flesh. Despite the obvious advantage in strength, he found his arms were becoming shaky from the sight; From the comparison of behaviour from earlier. It was too shocking. He'd never experienced it in such a way before. A sudden, more powerful outburst from the girl made his arms give up, and she was on him like a fly on a corpse. Antonio immediately shut his eyes desperately, voice finally managing to get a whisper of a call for help, but it wasn't loud enough. The little girl's fingers stabbed into him like daggers as her mouth surrounded the flesh on his neck and finally, he could feel her teeth grazing hi-

_**BANG.**_

The sudden noise made Antonio jolt back into reality, and he finally yelled 'help', not knowing he would have been already too late. A smaller body laid limp on top of him, and a shaky breath escaped him. His eyes widened in realisation at having to witness the second 'death' of the girl. Turning his head to the side to discover the source of the gunshot, he saw Gilbert, his small pistol in hand. However, there was something different. Rather than the frown he was accustomed to on the German's face, there was sorrow.

His lips trembled and his grasp on the gun wasn't secure. Gilbert dropped the gun to the floor, as well as his knees. After a few seconds, Gilbert managed to lift a pale, shaking hand onto his face to hide the tears threatening to cover his face. He heavily frowned to stop the tears, his eyelids forcibly closing in desperation. _Don't cry! Stop! Don't you dare! _Was all that ran through his head whilst he pathetically clung onto what little posture and pride he had left. One trickle of a tear was all it needed to take to set him off. He remembered when he was little, he didn't normally cry but when he did, it wouldn't sto- _No! Don't think about memories!_

He slammed his fist onto the floor as hard as he could, and let out a frustrated shout. This seemed to rid him of the tightness of his heart, and he felt a little better. "Fuck!" He yelled at the top of his lungs. Again, it helped. He punched the floor a few more times as Antonio watched in surprise, who was now sitting up with the dead body of the girl in his arms again.

Gilbert's fury lasted only a few moments, and in this time, Antonio left him to his own business and took the girl outside the cabin yet again, carefully and gently carrying the fragile limp body in his strong arms. His green eyes glazed over yet again, and his heart ached for the second time when he finally brought himself to lay her back down into the grave. He had to remould it for her to fit. Everything about this seemed so morbid, and he felt as if he was doing something incredibly and morally wrong by treating her in this way, but what else could he do? He originally thought of peacefully laying her on the couch with a blanket over her, but Gilbert didn't want anyone in the near future to see such a sight; a tiny skeleton which obviously belonged to a girl. Chances were that no-one was ever going to encounter this cabin again, but Antonio understood the man. He grabbed the blanket he'd found a few metres away from the grave, and slipped it over her body respectfully.

A brief touch of a hand was felt on Antonio's shoulder, and he looked back at Gilbert in response. He wiped his noise and sniffed the runny liquid away before clearing his throat. "We don't have any food; that's definitely our priority now. We have to move as soon as we can."

The Spaniard nodded in response slowly, bringing his gaze back to the grave. This time, Gilbert quickly and hesitantly formed the sign of the cross behind Antonio, hoping the younger man didn't see. However, a small smile scratched its way onto his tanned face, knowing the other's actions exactly without even having to look. He respected the action, even if he was stubborn as hell in displayed his sorrow.

"Well then, we best go then, si?" Antonio muttered, heading back into the cabin to gather their belongings. Just as soon as he passed Gilbert, however, he thought he saw something in the corner of his eye. A puffy redness around the German's eyes. He thought he noticed it because his red orbs looked more noticeable than he remembered. The Spaniard didn't say anything, however.

They used the worn-down map they possessed to finally figure out their location, and where would be the best location to get food. At first, it was easy to find it – you could just go into any shop and it'd be waiting for you like a banquet. But as the months passed, the buffet began to go out of date and uneditable. Now, they had to look for tinned food which can be preserved for a large amount of time. Anything fresh was gone.

Both members of the duo seriously couldn't be bothered even trying any more, but they eventually decided on a nearby town about three miles away. It would take them an hour if they kept a good pace.

Monotone voices filled the silent air as they marched (dragged themselves) forward. Gilbert had finally acknowledged that his wound on the back of his head stopped bleeding, as it was no longer hurting as much – he'd forgotten all about it until he was left alone with his thoughts. To occupy himself as they walked, he thought of his past – which he'd undoubtedly been doing a lot recently. He couldn't help but think he could have lived his life a little better. Be nicer to dad, protect his mother more, as well as making more happy memories for Ludwig enough for him to say he lived a happy childhood with his family. All he ever did though was constantly sit behind his laptop screen and blog about useless things, just because he was popular on the web. At one point, his mind traced back the memory of him smashing his head against a rock in the river. Until now, the experience was rather grainy because of confusion and adrenaline which pumped throughout his system. He thought deeper. Did he... Hear something communicating with him? He remembered feeling warmth and security when his head was gushing – he honestly thought he was going to die. His mind tricked him into thinking his mother was speaking to him in his final moments of life, in order to make his death a passive and warm one. When he thought of the voice, all he could imagine was sadness for some reason. Wet tears running through his mind, yet urging him to bathe in the pools of depression. Something wasn't quite right.

"Gilbert," A firm voice yelled, snapping him out of his trance. "I called you about seven times, what the hell were you thinking?" The Spaniard huffed in frustration. Gilbert blinked in response.

"Nothing for someone as unawesome as you," he muttered, yet somehow he still maintained his confidence through his tone. He pulled out the map yet again just to be sure of their location; "We've still got a bit to go, but we will probably make it before dark". As if on queue, Antonio's stomach let out a long-lasting growl to display it's desperation. The Spaniard chuckled uneasily at Gilbert, as if he'd just told a hilarious joke. But suddenly, one of his tanned hands punched his stomach to shut it up, an uneasy smile still evident on Antonio's face.

"I-I'm not that hungry, I swear," he persuaded before turning around, ready to walk. Gilbert rolled his eyes and followed suit.

Their top priority was definitely to find food. Otherwise, they won't last more than another two days. They had to stock up on food today, and enough to last them.

* * *

**A/N: Hey! As you may or may not have noticed, this chapter is much larger to what the others are. There is a reason for this; Hetaween. Have you all been keeping up to date with the event? If not, then just enjoy this longer chapter I wrote to celebrate Hetaween :'D The previous chapters were on average, about 2,000 words – but this chapter is a whopping 5,382 words, consisting of 9 whole pages! It may not seem much... But I'm incredibly proud. It takes so long to write a chapter ;u; **

**Recently, I have thought of another fanfiction idea which I may want to write in the future. But no worries, I will definitely make this my top priority – I want to finish it!**

**I also added N. Italy to the main character list since he's been mentioned quite a bit already... Another thing to mention, I am trying to add more descriptive elements to my chapters now to make them more in-depth... I hope it worked rather than confuse things even more...**


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